Most women have no characters at all.
Vice is a monster of so frightful mien As to be hated needs but to be seen; Yet seen too oft, familiar with her face, We first endure, then pity, then embrace.
Art still followed where Rome's eagles flew.
Whether the charmer sinner it, or saint it, If folly grow romantic, I must paint it.
The light of Heaven restore; Give me to see, and Ajax asks no more.
Careless of censure, nor too fond of fame, Still pleased to praise, yet not afraid to blame, Averse alike to flatter or offend, Not free from faults, nor yet too vain to mend.